


Little Spider Lost

by oneiriad



Category: Captain America (Movies), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universes, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 17:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8022730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneiriad/pseuds/oneiriad
Summary: One moment you're in the middle of a huge superhero fight in an airport in some bit of Germany you probably couldn't even find on a map, doing your level best to be an awesome superhero and impress Mr. Stark, the next there's a bright red light that envelops the entire world. The moment after that you're standing (somewhat unsteadily) on the top of a skyscraper, staring out at a city you've never seen before.





	Little Spider Lost

One moment you're in the middle of a huge superhero fight in an airport in some bit of Germany you probably couldn't even find on a map, doing your level best to be an awesome superhero and impress Mr. Stark, the next there's a bright red light that envelops the entire world.

The moment after that you're standing (somewhat unsteadily) on the top of a skyscraper, staring out at a city you've never seen before.

Peter takes a moment to sit down, because clearly, he's not in Kansas (well, Germany - Kansas, Germany?) anymore. The sky is bright blue and there's absolutely no sign of any superhero battle unfolding anywhere.  
Far below there are cars and people and life. Birds soaring through the sky.

Well - no point staying up here, is there? He'll need to figure out where he has ended up and how to get home to New York, when all he has is the nice, new suit Mr. Stark got him and not a single, solitary dollar on him - assuming he's even somewhere that uses dollars. He might be in New Zealand or China or somewhere like that.

At least getting down's easy, he thinks, and leaps.

***

He _is_ in America. That's a relief. Exactly where in America, that's proving a bit harder to figure out.

Oh, there are business signs and newspapers and things - it's just, he's never heard of a Central City before. At least it has a train station. He's clinging to a wall a couple of blocks from it, munching on an apple he plucked from a tree in a park (he's hungry, but he's not going to start stealing food, and he really doesn't have any money - besides, it's not like he can just walk into the nearest greengrocer in his costume) and studying a time table. He's never heard about half the places the trains apparently go to, but New York's one of the ones he has, and he's pretty sure he's got enough web fluid left to web himself to the roof of a train cart and get home that way.

Problem is, the next train for New York doesn't leave until tomorrow.

Well, he might as well swing through town on a patrol. He is a superhero after all. Besides, maybe he'll get lucky and save some pizza delivery guy from a terrible fate and be awarded with the guy's pizzas. Or something.

Okay, probably not.

***

He doesn't think twice before swinging down to stop the bank robbery. It's just two guys - one of them in a really blue parka despite it being summer and they're both pointing guns that look like they belong in a computer game, but still, it's just two guys.

What could possibly go wrong?

"Hey, didn't anybody ever teach you that stealing's bad?" he asks, which admittedly isn't his best quip ever, but he's a bit tired and still sore from the big fight, and hey, it's not like he's got a reputation around here or anything.

So he just leaps, dodging the weird blue ray that Mr. Blue Parka fires at him, and kicks the guy, making him drop to the ground, the sci-fi gun sliding down the street. Then he fires off a web, dragging himself into the air to dodge the red ray the other guy just fired and swing around to face him.

It's only when his web catches fire that he realizes that the guy wasn't aiming for him. He didn't even know his webs were flammable! They've never caught fire before! He sees the flames racing towards him and tries to let go of the line, but he's just not fast enough and the flames leap at him, encircling his wrists and making his web slingers explode, and he's plummeting to the ground.

Which is hard asphalt and it hurts and his wrists hurt and everything hurts and his spider sense is going nuts, but he can't dodge, he just can't…

And then everything is cold.

He can't get up. He can barely even think, let alone do anything like try to get away from the heavy footsteps coming his way. All Peter can do is wrap his arms around himself - he can't even feel his wrists anymore and two seconds ago they were hurting like crazy - and try to stop his teeth from chattering quite so loudly and listen to the faint crackling of what he realizes is the fine layer of ice that his sweat has turned into.

Then there's a hand and there are fingers and they're pulling off his mask, and no, no, no, that's a bad thing, he thinks, though he can't right at this very moment remember exactly why, and he's trying to reach out to stop it, except he's so cold and his hands won't do what he wants them to.

"Holy shit, Lenny, he's just a kid!"

More footsteps and Mr. Blue Parka - Lenny? - appears in Peter's field of vision, sci-fi gun back in his hand and a really nasty, vividly red bruise beginning to form on his face.

Peter tries to shrink away when Lenny kneels down and reaches for his face, because he's pretty sure this guy must be mad as hell and it's not like any other supervillain who figured out that Peter's a teenager has ever seemed to care, and these two? Are definitely supervillains. Why couldn't he have picked a nice, normal pair of bank robbers to stop?

"So it would seem," Lenny drawls, hand gripping Peter's chin and turning his head just a bit, forcing him to look straight at the guy. "What the hell were you thinking, kid?"

Peter's wrapping his fingers around Lenny's wrist, trying to fight off the cold, trying to gather his thoughts enough to offer some sort of reply, when the sound of sirens slice through the air, making the two super bank robbers tense.

"Time to go," Lenny announces and starts to get up.

"No, please," and Peter tightens his grip on the man's wrist, drags himself upward as the man starts getting to his feet. There's a part of him that's screaming at him, because this is madness, he's not thinking clearly, you don't try to cling to the supervillain who just kicked your butt when he's about to leave.

Apparently, Lenny agrees with that voice. He untangles his wrist from Peter's fingers and - almost gently - pushes him back down. Pats him on the chest.

"Kid, the best place for you right now is an ambulance. That frostbite's no joke."

"Please. You don't understand. They'll - they'll see my face. They can't… I…." and it's so hard, fighting through the cold to try to explain, to try to grab hold of Lenny again, to make him understand.

And still there's that voice in his head telling him to stop, he's being an idiot.

Lenny's frowning now, then looking back at the other guy, and Peter can't tell what he's thinking, can't see - and then Lenny's on his feet, Peter's arms sliding back down to wrap around himself with a final "please".

Then there are hands under his armpits hoisting him up and next thing he knows he's slung over a broad shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The man starts to run and Peter's bumping up and down and he's cold and it hurts and all he can see is flashing lights.

Then he's getting shoved face-first into the backseat of a car, trying and failing to stop himself from ending up an ungainly heap halfway off the seat.

"Mick. Seat belt," comes Lenny's clipped voice from the front seat, and Peter's getting jostled and pulled upright, and it hurts, and then it doesn't, as he slips into merciful darkness.

***

Awareness returns to the shrill sound of machinery, to the noise of a welding torch being lit.

Peter's eyes fly open, his back straightens and his head comes up - but when he tries to rise he can't. Something's stopping him.

"Oy, Lenny! Your sleeping beauty's awake!"

The man who shouted is big - tall and wide, standing a few feet away next to a table with something that looks like half a car engine on it. He's straightening up, turning off the welding torch, and Peter can't quite decide whether that's a good thing or a very bad one.

He tries to get out of the chair again, but can't. He can barely move his feet and when he looks down, he sees some form of manacles snapped shut around his upper arms, ridiculously thin blue wires stretching between the metal cuffs and then down where he can't see. He tenses, tries to use all that relative-strength-of-a-spider to break his bonds, but it's no use.

All he accomplishes is to make the blanket that's been wrapped around him come loose and slide off, exposing his skin to the cold air, reminding him how very cold he is. Wait - skin? A second glance down and he realizes that somebody - presumably one of the super bank robbers - has removed part of his suit while he was out cold, leaving him naked from the waist up. What the…?

"That won't work, you know," comes the drawl of the second super bank robber guy from behind him. "The design specs on those things say they're graded for Kryptonians, though where the bastards found one of those to test them on is anyone's guess."

Peter turns his head and watches as the guy - Lenny? - bends down to pick the blanket back up from the concrete floor. Then the man steps closer and Peter tenses again, but all he does is wrap the blanket back around him. Peter lifts his hands and pulls it tight.

Then the guy comes around to Peter's front, dragging a chair over to sit down on, arms folded across the chair's back, allowing Peter a good look at him and the angry bruise that's covering half the man's face.

"How are you doing, kid?"

"Oh, you know. I bet I'd feel a lot better if you took these things off me."

"Nice try, kid, but not a chance."

"No? What are you anyway? Some sort of pervert in a parka, chaining up teenagers in abandoned warehouses?"

He didn't expect that to earn him a snort of laughter.

"Let's not forget which one of us attacked the other. Besides, kid," and he lifts a hand to tap at his bruise, making Peter wince, "you kick like a mule, and I imagine you must pack one hell of a punch. So let's just agree that it's not exactly in my best interest to let you just wander about."

Peter looks down, mumbling "sorry I kicked you."

"Yeah, I bet you are. Now, how are your wrists? Do they hurt?"

Peter blinks, looking at the angry, red burns encircling his wrists like a second pair of cuffs. They're beginning to blister, like bubbles rising from water that's just about to boil.

"I can't feel them," he offers. "They're kinda numb."

"Probably still frozen. If they do start to hurt," and Lenny leans down, picking up a spray bottle of the sort that Peter usually associates with window cleaners and placing it in Peter's lap, "use that. They tell me cold water's the best thing for burns."

He settles back on his chair, gesturing towards Peter.

"And the rest? Still freezing?"

"A bit. I - it's fine, I heal quickly, I…"

Peter's not exactly sure what he's supposed to do with this entire situation. Sure, he's tried being held captive by supervillains before - which he's pretty sure isn't something a fifteen year old should be able to say - but it's not like they usually spend the time asking about his injuries. Usually, there's a lot more monologuing involved.

"Well, that explains how fast those bruises you're covered in are fading."

"What's your name, kid?" and Peter looks up at the other guy, who has put away his tools and has come over to them, leaning against a support pillar.

Now, this is a bit more familiar territory.

"I'm Spider-Man," because yeah, they've probably figured that much out from the webs and the suit, but he's not going to just tell them anything else.

"Pretty sure that's not what it says on your birth certificate, kiddo," Lenny comments. "What's your real name?"

"Well, what are your names? Or am I just going to have to keep calling you Blue Parka Guy and Super Bank Robber Number Two?"

Yeah, he's stalling, and he's not being very good at it, but his captors don't seem to be getting angry. The big guy snorts, sounding more amused than anything. Lenny glares at him.

"He's Mick Rory," Lenny says, jerking his head in the other guy's direction, "and my name is Leonard Snart. And you are?"

He had expected something a little more - supervillainous. Professor Frost and his henchman Flashfire or something like that. Not just names. Normal names. Still, Peter's committed - they might have seen his face, but he's not going to just tell them his name.

"I told you. I'm just your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man."

"Never heard of you," Mick grunts.

"And I've never seen you around the neighbourhood," Leonard drawls.

"Well, I'm mostly in New York, really. But I'm kinda famous. I've been helping out Iron Man with some real important superhero stuff," and see, he can be subtle, implying that somebody else is out there who'll miss him, and that somebody's an Avenger, surely that will...

"Never heard of him," Leonard says dismissively and Peter's jaw drops just a bit.

"Wait - how can you not have heard of Iron Man. He's an Avenger, he saved New York, he - Tony Stark? Ring any bells? Really, really rich guy, flies around in a super suit?"

"Sure you haven't gotten him mixed up with the Atom?" Mick asks. "Really annoying guy, flies around in a suit, shrinks a lot?"

"No - no, the shrinking, that was - that was another guy, that's..."

But the villains - the grown-ups - are exchanging glances as if they think Peter's crazy.

"Look, Spider-Kid," and Leonard sounds almost gentle, "I've been making a point to keep up with the news about capes and metas, especially after the entire Flashpoint mess, and I've never heard about an Iron Man before. Or a Spider-Man."

"But - but I'm telling the truth. I _am_ a superhero. You saw the suit, you saw my webs, I..."

"Kid, listen, we're not saying..."

"No, you listen. I can - I can prove it! There's tons of photos of Spider-Man on the internet, if you just let me…" and yeah, that's probably not going to happen, but there's something about the way the two grown-ups are talking that's making a tiny ball of panic start to bubble in his chest.

Leonard looks at him hard, then - instead of another "Nice try, kid," - he gets an "All right" and the man gets to his feet, wandering back in the direction he came from. A moment later he returns, carrying a laptop and putting it down on some sort of rolling table that Mick's fetched from where he was working, pushing a couple of power tools to the side to make room for the computer. A bit of fumbling with a phone and a cable later, the table's pushed in front of him, laptop open and Google waiting patiently for his search.

Peter leans forward and is pleasantly surprised to find that as long as he moves slowly, the weird blue wires of his manacles will stretch, allowing him to easily reach the laptop.

"No funny business," Mick warns. Leonard, on the other hand, is quiet, circling Peter and stopping behind his back, leaning against the back of the chair.

Peter starts by simply googling Spider-Man like so many times before, and usually that'll get him a ton of photos, a few youtube videos and at least ten editorials on how Spider-Man is a menace to society. Today, all it gets him are stuff about biologists and some French dude climbing the Eiffel Tower. Huh. Maybe Mr. Stark's done something to get rid of his bad media?

Well, at least he can count on the Daily Bugle, he thinks, typing in the familiar URL - and getting an error page. Okay, that's a little weird. Yeah, Mr. Jameson's the sort of old school guy who likes his newspapers in print, but he wouldn't let the website go down - and it's not like Peter's the only person at the Bugle who knows how to debug a website. The IT people even get paid good money for that sort of thing.

He starts making his way through blogs on superheroes - blogs that have either vanished off the internet or are full of posts about people he's never heard about. He tries other news sites and it's the same. He tries googling Stark, Iron Man, Captain America, Thor and finds himself staring at page upon page of Norse myth, sports, and the website of some Irish restaurant. What is going on here?

Having tried googling both Sokovia and Wakanda in vain, he manages to pull up a map of Africa before realizing that he doesn't actually know where Wakanda's supposed to be anyway, so it's not like he has any way of telling whether the country has been wiped off the face of the map the way he has…

The panic's rising again and his fingers are hitting the laptop keys far too hard, but he can't help it. The panic's bubbling away like the witches' cauldron in that play Aunt May dragged him to last fall, making him do stupid things, considering there's a supervillain quite literally breathing down his neck (okay, not quite literally, but he's definitely looking over his shoulder), but once the thought has occurred to him, he finds that he can't stop himself.

Gmail doesn't recognize him. Neither does Tumblr or Facebook. His school's website leaves him almost surprised by actually existing, though it looks a bit strange, but when he tries to log into his school account, it won't let him. The Daily Bugle's webserver seems as non-existent as the main website.

"Kid, maybe that's enough for today," but he shrugs off Leonard's hand on his shoulder and opens Google Maps on a hunch. Starts to zoom in on New York, on Queens, on Forest Hills.

He makes a strangled noise and suddenly he's shivering again, and he's pretty sure it's got nothing to do with frostbite this time. No no no no no…

"Kid?"

"My building isn't there," he manages to get out. Then he pukes.

***

There's a hand rubbing soothing circles between his shoulders. There's a rusty old bucket in his lap and he's clinging to it like a life raft.

He thinks he's been crying.

Some superhero he is, having a breakdown in front of the villains. He's pathetic, Peter the Pathetic, snivelling and being comforted by a super bank robber.

"Feeling a bit better?" Leonard asks and he nods, not quite trusting his voice yet. Someone tugs the bucket out of his hands and he wraps them back around himself as best as the manacles will let him. Doesn't manage to stop himself from glancing towards the laptop, but someone's been kind enough to close it, sparing him the sight of Google Street View showing a Fairway where Aunt May's apartment building is supposed to be.

"Good. That's good," and Leonard's patting his shoulder. "What do you say we send Mick out for some dinner, then, while you and I look into getting you cleaned up a bit, get your teeth brushed, that sort of thing. How does that sound? Good?"

Peter nods, because yeah, that does sound kinda okay. His mouth tastes like something died in it about five years ago and he's pretty sure the last time he ate, apart from the apple, was on the plane somewhere over the Atlantic.

"I'll go to the Big Belly Burger down the block. How does that sound, kid?" Mick rumbles in what Peter assumes is a friendly tone.

"I don't know what that is…" he says, trying to ignore the look the grown-ups exchange.

"It's just burgers," Leonard tells him. "Now where did I put that key…"

Mick leaves, and Leonard kneels down and does something that Peter can't see properly, but when he gets to his feet there's a chain and a padlock in his hands. He puts them aside before helping Peter to his feet. He's still all chained up, arms and feet and weird blue wires stretching between, but as long as he moves slowly and doesn't try to take too big steps he can manage.

He glances back at the chair and realizes that the chain must have been for keeping the manacles on his feet chained to a big ring in the floor.

"Why do you have a ring in your floor?" he asks, because that is a bit disconcerting.

"It came with the warehouse," Leonard shrugs. "Now, come along, Itsy Bitsy."

He should probably be offended at that. 

The bathroom turns out to pretty similar to the toilets at Peter's school. There's a toilet in a stall and a couple of other stalls that's been converted into a somewhat rickety looking shower. There's a sink with a cracked mirror, and next to it there's a stool with a basket stuffed with, well, bathroom stuff, and there's some lockers with their doors missing, one of which seems to be stuffed with some really fluffy-looking towels.

It's pretty weird, actually, but it's clean - besides, Peter has different worries that are only just occurring to him, and he glances nervously at Leonard. The man isn't even looking at him, though.

"There should be some spare toothbrushes in the basket," he says, waving his hand in the appropriate direction. "Think you can manage on your own from here?"

"Yeah. Yes. Definitely. I'll just," and Leonard's already leaving, back turned and reaching for the door handle when Peter asks: "How can my building be gone?"

"Kid, I'm really not the right person to ask."

"No, but - you believe me, right? That I'm Spider-Man? That my building is -gone?"

"I believe you, kid. That panic attack was too good to be faked."

"But then - how?"

Leonard sighs, takes his hand off the door handle and drags it through his close-cropped hair.

"Maybe someone's messed with your brain, implanted memories and that sort of shit. Maybe someone went and changed history on us again and you're some sort of time remnant. Maybe you're from another Earth."

"Another Earth?" he asks, because that's new. Leonard shrugs.

"Apparently there's a few. The Flash runs over to them sometimes."

"The Flash?"

"Never heard of him either? Fastest man alive, local superhero. I'm sure you'll have the pleasure soon enough. Now," and with that he turns and leaves, closing the door with a "Give a shout if you need anything. I'll be right outside."

And then Peter's alone in the supervillain lair's bathroom.

The supervillain lair's sadly windowless bathroom.

Still, Peter's an optimist. He immediately gives breaking the manacles a second try - which results in the weird blue wires snapping right back to their original length, making Peter crash to the floor.

Whatever Kryptonians are, they must be really strong.

For a couple of minutes he just lies on the floor, halfway expecting Leonard to come back in to find out what the noise was. He doesn't, though, and eventually Peter rolls over and clambers to his feet. It's awkward, especially since the blue wires seem like they've decided to punish him for trying to get free by only letting him move a tiny little bit at a time.

Still, he manages. Admittedly, he ends up accidentally making the basket fall to floor, spilling shampoo bottles and toothpaste and disposable razors everywhere. But he manages. Brushes his teeth, finds a really fluffy washcloth in the towel locker and cleans his face, even manages to use the toilet without making the manacles object, so that's good.

Then he steals the biggest, fluffiest towel to wrap himself in instead of the blanket and goes back out.

Leonard's only comment on the towel is a raised eyebrow.

"I'd really like to go home now," and Peter's surprised how small his voice is.

Leonard sighs and wraps an arm around his shoulders.

"Yeah - how about we look into that tomorrow? I think I heard Mick coming back five minutes ago."

***

Peter might never have heard about Big Belly Burger before, but it turns out they make _really_ good burgers. And fries. And milkshakes. And Mick bought enough to feed a small army - or a hungry teenage superhero.

Leonard ate a single burger, then wandered off to another part of the warehouse. Peter can hear his voice - not the actual words, just his voice - and guesses that the man must be on the phone with someone. Which leaves Mick and Peter to share the ratty sofa and the rest of the burgers. It's almost cozy, if he just pretends the manacles weren't still there.

And then Leonard wanders back over and drops down in the chair across from the sofa.

"Your name," and he points straight at Peter, making him freeze like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, "is Peter Parker. You're fifteen years old and live with your aunt, May Parker, in Queens, New York, and for reasons that don't make much sense to me, another superhero decided that it'd be perfectly alright to drag a high school student halfway across the globe to be part of some sort of superhero grudge match."

He really doesn't sound impressed.

"How…?" 

"Apparently, you're not the only superhero nobody's ever heard about before to suddenly pop up today. And some of the others actually managed to get in touch with some of the local superheroes and started talking, instead of barging in on somebody else's heist."

"I said I was sorry about that," Peter mutters, dragging his legs up on the sofa and wrapping his arms around them.

"No, you said you were sorry you kicked me. Slight difference. Anyway, the good news is that the egg heads seem to be pretty sure that the whole lot of you are from another Earth - and since the Flash and his crew at S.T.A.R. Labs are the resident experts on alternate Earths, everybody's going to come to Central City, try to figure out how to get you all home."

"So - what does that mean for me?"

"It means that you'll be staying here overnight and tomorrow, I'll take you to a nice, neutral meeting place and hand you over to the Flash. Then you can be the capes' problem instead of mine. Does that sound peachy to you?"

"I - yeah," and he nods, resting his chin on his knees. That sounds - like a relief. Like he's not crazy and he'll get to go home. Maybe even tomorrow.

A paper bag nudges his cheek.

"Hey, Pete, you haven't finished your dinner."

***

Evening finds him in the middle of the too-narrow sofa, wedged in between two pretty burly supervillains, with a bag of chips and a soda while a game of hockey is played out on the small tv.

Peter's never really been one for sports and he finds his mind drifting in other directions - like exactly who told Leonard his name? Mr. Stark? Did anybody else at that airport even know who Peter was? But that means that Mr. Stark told a supervillain who Peter was?! Or at least told somebody who told a supervillain who Peter was?!

Not that Leonard shouting at the tv feels particularly villainous right at this very moment.

"Your wrists starting to hurt?"

He glances down at his hands, not even having realized that he's started scratching at the burns until Leonard asked without even tearing his eyes from the screen.

"Not really. They just - they're itchy, you know?"

It's Mick who reaches out and wraps a hand around Peter's forearm, raising his arm to get a better look at Peter's wrist in the sparse light from the tv and the couple of small lamps by the sofa, and accidentally spilling the last bit of Peter's soda on himself in the process.

It's Mick who lets out an appreciative whistle before letting Peter pull his hands back down.

"That's one hell of a healing factor you've got there, kid!"

"Healing factor?" and Peter's suddenly having a really vivid flashback to a particular supervillain's very gleeful reaction to discovering exactly how quickly Peter was recovering from his injuries. "No, no, I don't - just a little bit, just enough to make the bruises fade, that's all, seriously."

Mick's grunt is unconvinced. Then he rolls up a sleeve and flexes his bicep.

"I might not know much about healing factors, kiddo, but I know all about burns. The ones you had - that's how they're supposed to look after a couple of years if you haven't been to hospital and gotten skin grafts."

Peter looks at the angry red scars on the man's arm and swallows nervously, glancing down at the somewhat flaking burns on his own wrists. The very obviously well-on-their-way-to-healing burns with fresh, pink skin already peaking through.

"Will you two shut up!" Leonard grumbles. "The game's in overtime and you're distracting me!"

Thankfully, Mick seems happy enough to obey - just rolls his sleeve back down, then reaches out to get Peter a new soda - and when the game is done, Leonard seems equally happy to continue ignoring the entire matter in favour of finding a channel showing some old Monty Python movie.

Peter allows himself to take comfort from the movie - one he's seen a few times before with MJ making snarky comments at it. At least some things are pretty much the same - and a world with Monty Python can't be an entirely horrible place.

He doesn't actually notice how close he is to drifting off before Len's standing over him and poking him in the shoulder.

"You don't want to spend the night like that, Petey. You'll get a crick in the neck - and besides, Mick won't be too happy if he wakes up to find that you drooled all over him."

Peter doesn't protest, just lets Leonard drag him up from the admittedly awkward position that he was in, halfway curled up with his head against Mick's broad chest.

"What about him?" he asks, glancing back down at the man whose head has lolled back. He's snoring.

"Mick's slept in worse."

The bit of the warehouse that Leonard takes him to is basically next to the bathroom and shielded behind a couple of somewhat alarmingly full shelving units, creating something that resembles a private space. Someone's put a futon there, piled high with some blankets, a flashlight, and a worn-looking, but neatly folded pyjamas covered in snowflakes.

"Gimme your hands, kid."

Peter doesn't actually see what Leonard does, but there's a beep and then the manacles on his arms click open. He admits he's blinking in surprise at Leonard and probably too tired to properly process what is going on (When was the last time he actually slept? On the plane? No, he'd been far too excited on the plane…) as Leonard sits down on the futon and pats the space next to him.

"Sit down, kid."

"Uhm," and Peter takes a step back, a childhood's worth of warnings about stranger danger suddenly crawling out of the dark corners of the warehouse and into his far-too-sleepy mind.

Apparently, Leonard's a mind reader, because he snorts.

"Kid, if I was planning to do something to you, do you really think I'd have started by freeing your hands? Now sit your butt down and swing your legs up, unless you want to sleep with those manacles on, because I'm not about to crawl around on the floor to get them off you."

Oh. That makes more sense, actually.

This time he can actually see the weird little gizmo that Leonard holds against the manacles and how it looks like the thing might be scanning Leonard's fingerprint for a moment before opening the cuffs. Leonard stands, folding the manacles in on themselves until they're looking most of all like some sort of Rubrik's cube.

"Where did you even get those things?"

"The future. Now, sleep," and Leonard turns to leave.

"Uhm, Leonard? Can I ask you something?"

"It's just Len, kid," Leonard - Len - says, turning back, "and I suppose so."

"Not that I'm complaining, but - what happened to "nice try" and "not a chance"?" Even as he asks, it occurs to Peter that perhaps he is about to make Len change his mind.

"Planning to attack me?"

"No! But..."

Len just shakes his head, hiding a yawn behind his hand - apparently, Peter's not the only one who's tired.

"Kid, these things," and he gestures with the weird black-and-blue cube that used to be the manacles, "were to keep you from doing something we'd all regret. But you've been spending the last couple of hours cuddling up to Mick and it doesn't even seem to have occurred to you that with strength like yours, all you'd need to do was wrap those manacles around his neck - so, I think I'm willing to take the chance."

"What if I run away?"

Len shrugs.

"Then you're not my problem anymore."

"Oh." Peter blinks.

"Peter - you're not a prisoner. The only reason you're even here and not in hospital is because you objected to being left for the cops. If you want to leave, just leave. The door's that way," and he waves his hand even as he turns to walk back to the sofa and the tv and Mick.

Peter's suddenly feeling very small and very lonely.

"Of course," and Len hesitates just before walking behind the shelves, "that'd make you a stupid 15 year old kid with no money and barely any clothes running around at night in an unfamiliar city. Especially considering you have the option of a safe bed for the night and breakfast in the morning before getting handed over to the local superheroes. But it's entirely up to you, Spider-Boy."

Then he turns the corner and walks away, pausing only long enough to add a "lights out, kiddo," before plunging the corner of the warehouse that contains Peter's 'bedroom' into darkness as the overheard lights flicker out.

Peter grabs the flashlight and relaxes at its bright, steady light - listens to Len's steps echoing on the bare concrete and his grumbled "Mick, time for bed," and Mick's "Damnit, Snart," just barely audible from the other part of the warehouse. It makes him feel oddly safe, being able to hear the two men moving about, Mick stomping past Peter's little den on his way to the bathroom and Len turning off the tv, and yet having his own space to curl up in.

But he still crawls under the blankets before changing into the pyjamas. It's a bit too big for him, but nice and soft.

And then he just curls up on the futon, a couple of blankets over him and a folded blanket serving as an improvised pillow, letting the low noises of two supervillains getting ready for bed lull him to sleep.

***

In Peter's defence, he's getting shaken awake in an unfamiliar place by a person he doesn't immediately recognize. It's perfectly natural to try to get away.

Which is why he is not going to apologize for how he's clinging to the warehouse ceiling, blinking sleepily down at the grumpy-looking man with the buzz cut. Nope. Not happening.

"Well, guess that qualifies as you being up," Len drawls. "Neat trick."

"Thanks," Peter offers, feeling embarrassed.

"'Course, unless you're planning on doing something about all the cobwebs up there, you might want to come back down. Mick's making pancakes for breakfast." Then he turns and leaves.

The futon protests as Peter lands on it and scrambles for the boots he left by the side of the bed last night. He sends a grateful thought to Mr. Stark as he pulls them on - they are so nice and soft and they fit him  
perfectly - and then follows Len back towards the 'living room' section of the warehouse.

"Sorry about that," he offers, as he sinks down in the sofa next to Len, but Len makes a dismissive gesture.

"At least you're easier to drag out of bed than my sister was at your age."

Peter would answer, except he's distracted by the sight of Mick making pancakes - which, since the warehouse apparently doesn't have a proper kitchen, is a process that involves a blowtorch. It doesn't exactly look safe, but the pancakes turn out to be delicious (and only slightly singed), especially with the maple syrup on that had apparently been lurking in the fridge.

***

It's a lovely sunny day at the Central City Park Plaza and Peter's making sure to follow closely behind Len, whose idea of incognito apparently involves clothes that are really not appropriate to the season. Peter's in jeans that are at least two sizes too big for him, though the belt helps a lot with that, and a hoodie that's very nice and soft and a bit too warm, really. His costume, apart from his boots, is in a plastic bag, as are the web shooters he just spent a long lazy morning trying to fix with the aid of Mick and his very impressive collection of spare parts. One of them's practically working again, except Mick didn't have the chemicals he needed for the web fluid.

"I'm sure the Flash's buddy Ramon can fix you right up," the man had promised, so Peter's feeling optimistic.

And shouldn't he be? It's a nice, sunny day, and he and Len drove here on Len's bike to meet up with a superhero - that's cool, right?

They're supposed to meet up with the Flash at a local ice cream place, which as they approach it turns out to be a really old-fashioned ice cream truck parked next to the path, about a dozen rickety tables scattered on the grass next to it, all of them taken.

Len doesn't hesitate, just stears Peter towards a table with two free chairs, a bowl of just-beginning-to-melt ice cream in front of each of them, and pushes Peter towards one of the chairs before sitting down in the other.

There are two men across from them. One of them Peter guesses must be the Flash - he's really tall and looks a bit like a cross between a Labrador puppy and a model, the way he's smiling at Len, and he's got a buzz cut that's making Peter wonder if it's some sort of superhero-supervillain fashion statement on this Earth.

The other man is Captain America.

Back in Germany, when they had both been in costume and fighting, Peter had mostly been able to suppress his inner fanboy - well, only mostly - but now? Sitting right across from the man and with no masks between them? And with the legend looking at him with the weirdest expression on his face?

Yeah, Peter wishes this wasn't just a rickety aluminum chair he was sitting in, because he'd really like something he could sink down and hide in right about now.

"You know - unless there's some body switcheroos going around that nobody thought to mention, I'm pretty sure that you're not the Flash, Raymond."

"Yeah, sorry about that," Raymond the puppy/model actually blushes a bit. "We just heard that one of the other heroes from their world has popped up in Nanda Parbat, because apparently that place has a magnetic effect on archers, and we thought it'd be a really good idea if Ba - if the Flash ran over there with Sara to extract him before anything could go too wrong. I told them it'd be fine as long as we sent someone you trusted to meet you."

Raymond's aiming a hopeful, little smile in Len's direction, but Len just raises an eyebrow at him and picks up his spoon.

"Eat your ice cream before it melts, kid."

Oh right. Ice cream. Really, really good ice cream, as it turns out. He'll definitely need to stop by this place again before going home.

"Mr. Snart, I'm Steve Rogers," and Captain America has risen and extended his hand, "and I just wanted to thank you for being reasonable and bringing Peter here safe and sound."

Because apparently everybody and their aunt knows Peter's secret identity now.

Len doesn't answer. He doesn't offer his hand either, just looks at Captain Roger's for a bit. He reminds Peter a bit of his neightbour's Siamese when it's offered something other than tuna, actually.

Then Len turns back to his own ice cream, asking: "So, you part of the group that thinks it's a grand idea to use child soldiers or just a part of the group that thinks it's fine punching them?"

"Snart!" Raymond hisses at him, but Rogers just has the weirdest expression on his face, like he's at once embarrassed and forced to eat a lemon.

"From what I understand, you're not exactly what anybody would call a righteous man yourself, Captain Cold."

Ah, so that's Len's supervillain name. It's kinda cool, actually.

Len just shrugs, scraping the last bit of melted ice cream out of his bowl.

"At least I've never broken the Geneva convention," and then he looks at Raymond again. "I don't think this is going to work out."

"But what's the problem? We've gotten hold of some camp beds and are setting up some rooms for the other world superheroes - Peter will be fine."

"Is that so?" and he turns to Peter. "Teammate of yours?" and he nods towards Rogers.

"No, but - dude, that's Captain America! He's like, a national icon! A legend! He wouldn't hurt me. "

"And how many of those bruises you were covered in yesterday was he directly responsible for?"

Peter ducks his head. 

"Thought so."

"Now, listen here, Mr. Snart…" but Len interrupts him, because apparently Len is really not at all impressed by meeting Captain America.

"No, you listen, Captain Rogers. I don't know you from Adam, but from what the Flash told me, you and the leader of the other side in this little dust-up of yours are usually all buddy-buddy. Which means that you might not be the one to use child soldiers, but that just makes you best friends with the guy who thought it was all right to bully a child into fighting his battles. You really think I'm just going to hand a kid over to you?"

"It wasn't like that," Peter mutters, but that just earns him a raised eyebrow.

"Kid, I _was_ paying attention this morning when you were telling Mick all about how your Mr. Stark recruited you, and I hate to be the one to tell you this, but a millionaire showing up un-announced at your place, letting you think he'd reveal your secret identity to your aunt if you didn't go to another continent with him? That's exactly like that. If he'd done more than implying, it would have been straight-up blackmail. I should know, I've used that particular trick myself a time or two," and then Len glares at the national icon. "Not that he seems to have bothered to keep his side of that sort of deal, this Mr. Stark, if the way the Spider-Kid's been flinching every time someone new's turned out to know his name is any hint."

And put like that, yeah, Peter can see what Len's talking about. It's just - this is Captain America. He's, like, truth, justice and the American way.

"Are you saying that you're refusing to let Peter come with us?" and Captain Rogers straightens his back, drawing himself up as if getting ready for a fight.

"Don't be absurd. Kid's free to go wherever he wants. I'm just not gonna stand by and watch you make him go with you if he'd prefer not to."

"You think I would strong-arm the boy into…"

"I think he just called you a national icon. I think you wouldn't actually need to do any strong-arming."

"Guys, guys, settle down, we're all friends here, right?" and Raymond looks about ready to jump between the two captains. "Now, Len, I get that you're not happy about letting young Peter go with someone you don't know - but you know me, right? And he'd be going with me! Problem solved!"

And he beams. Actually beams. Peter thought that was just something you read about people doing in the short stories his English teacher keeps assigned them for homework.

"Except I do know you, Raymond. You'd want to protect the kid, sure - but you're far too trusting, and let's be honest, Haircut, you are a lousy judge of character."

Peter doesn't understand the significant look Len aims at the top of Raymond's head, but the guy blushes at it, muttering: "It's not like you had to help him." Len just smirks.

Captain Rogers's looking at the pair of them as if they've gone crazy.

"Look, Mr. Palmer, I agreed to this because you assured me that this Captain Cold character was amenable to reason. If either of you think that I'm just going to let a child stay in the hands of a dangerous criminal, then…"

"How about asking me what I think?"

Peter's pretty startled to realize that he dared to interrupt Captain America - but he did! Cool! Right? Except now they're all looking at him.

Oops?

"Son, you really want to go with him?"

Captain America sounds like he'll be so disappointed if Peter says yes to that, but…

"Well, I don't know. I…" and he turns to Len. "What happens if I don't go with them? Do we just go back to the wa - I mean, to your secret lair?"

"If you want to." Len shrugs. "Weather's nice - we could probably get Mick to drag out the barbecue. Then tomorrow we can come back and see if our local speedster can be bothered to be just a day late for a meeting. But that's up to you."

Peter leans back in his chair, glancing at a pretty grumpy looking Captain Rogers, then at Raymond, who at least doesn't seem as if he's about to actually try to stop Peter going with Len, and he's the one who seems to know him. And Mick and Len have actually been quite nice to him, after the whole mix-up at the bank - unless that's just early onset Copenhagen Syndrome or whatever it's called.

"I think - I think that'd be okay."

Captain Rogers really doesn't look happy about that.

"So, you'd be willing to hand Peter over to the Flash, but not to us? What's to keep you from changing your mind about that tomorrow?" he demands.

"Because I know the Flash. I know the frankly ridiculous lengths he'll go to to keep people safe. Just as importantly, he knows me."

"I keep people safe," Raymond's muttering. He actually sounds hurt and it makes Len turn to look at him, sighing.

"Listen, Boy Scout," - "Eagle Scout" - "you're an excellent superhero, but one of these days you really need to come up with an alternative to your go-to plan of taking the bullet for people. It's all well and good in the short term, but you really need a plan for afterwards."

"I can keep myself safe," Peter feels he has to protest. "I mean, I _am_ a superhero."

"You're a 15 year old kid. Metahuman or not, you're not supposed to be the one keeping anybody safe."

Things devolve into bickering at that point. But in the end, Captain Rogers and Raymond Palmer leave and it's just Len and Peter sitting at the rickety table in the park.

Peter's pretty sure being left alone with the supervillain isn't supposed to feel like a relief.

"So - now what? Back to the warehouse?"

"I was thinking we'd stop somewhere along the way and get you some pants that actually fit - and we should probably swing by the butcher's for supplies, if we don't want Mick to chargrill the pair of us."

***

Mick doesn't seem particularly surprised to see Peter - dressed in a pair of ridiculously expensive jeans that actually fit and a t-shirt loudly proclaiming "I <3 Central City!" - walk through the door. It makes Peter wonder whether Len had ever intended to hand him over, even if it had been the Flash who had met them at the park.

Well, guess he'll find that out tomorrow.

Then Len follows Peter inside and the sight of the big bags from the fancy butcher shop does make the man pause.

"Snart?" he growls.

Len shrugs, failing spectacularly at looking innocent.

"I - might have mentioned to Peter that we could probably talk you into some barbecue tonight."

"And who else might have happened to overhear the pair of you talking about that," he asks suspiciously, which is totally fair if you ask Peter - he's got a fine appetite, but those bags have far too much meat for just three people in them.

"Some superhero type from the other Earth - oh, and Palmer."

"Haircut? Damnit, Len, can't you at least ask me before inviting half the capes in the city?"

Apparently, Mick takes his barbecue very seriously. He puts Peter to work dragging three big barbecues up on the roof of the warehouse and then a bunch of chairs and benches and tables, while he himself clears a worktable downstairs, scrubs it down and then starts slicing and dicing and marinating stuff. Len's gotten summarily kicked out with a shopping list pinned to his chest. He didn't seem to mind.

The first guest arrives shortly after Mick's used his heat gun to light the coals - because there's no kill like overkill, apparently - and they're waiting for the flames to die down enough for the meat. She has time to put a couple of bottles of vodka on the table before Mick spots her - "Blondie!" - and picks her up for a bear hug.

"I see you're back from chasing superheroes across the globe," Len comments as he arrives by way of the fire escape. "How goes the hunt?"

"Pretty good. Oliver got a call from a sorcerer friend of his complaining about an un-trained witch popping up in the middle of his watermill, so now there's just two unaccounted for. Not bad for a single day's work. And speaking of superheroes..."

The woman turns to look at Peter.

"Hello, I'm Sara Lance. You Peter?"

"Uhm, yeah?" 

She holds out a plastic bag for him.

"Courtesy of Cisco Ramon," she says as he peaks and finds an embarrassment of riches in the form of chemicals in bottles, neatly labeled and everything. "He didn't know exactly what you'd need, but he said that stuff was what he'd start with if it was him. He also said to text him if there was anything else you needed - though between you and me," and she leans in close, as if she's confiding something very secret, "I think he's just angling for an excuse to take a break and come have some barbecue."

"Thanks, but how did he know…?"

"Lenny called him. Told him he had a tech geek kid hanging around being sad for want of chemicals."

"He called - I thought this Ramon dude was a friend of the Flash's?"

"Sure."

"Who is a superhero."

"Yep."

"But I thought - I thought Len and Mick were…"

"Supervillains?"

"Yeah. That."

"Oh, they are. Captain Cold and Heatwave. They're just - more the sort of supervillains who tend to rob banks or armored trucks than the sort who try to end the world. In fact, they've been known to help out when things get really bad. I wouldn't worry too much about it, kid."

And then she ruffles his hair in that really annoying way that adults really need to stop having, especially adults who are really hot women who really shouldn't be thinking about him as a kid, and wanders over to were Len's been bullied into salad mixing duty, much to his loudly expressed displeasure.

"Mick, can I…?"

"Sure, go play," the man says, gesturing with the tongs. "Not like there's more to do here than I can handle. Have fun."

So, Peter ducks downstairs and gets to work. Half an hour later, he's got two functional web shooters - admittedly, the web fluid is one of his earlier versions, but it'll do. He tests them out by swinging from one of the lamps - and proceeds to regret it as both he and it crashes to the floor.

At least nobody saw that.

"Ahem."

"Hi, Len?"

"Hi. If you're done wrecking my safehouse for the night, how about you come upstairs? Some of our guests seem convinced that we've murdered you and stashed your remains in a suitcase."

There are more people on the roof now, and most of them are strangers - though there's Raymond, chatting happily with Mick - well, at Mick. The big man just seems to grunt in reply most of the time. There's Captain America, looking a bit out of place, and there's the Black Widow and Hawkeye chatting with Sara Lance, who gestures for Peter to join them.

Turns out that Hawkeye was the archer that the Flash had had to run and get from - Panda Land?

"Nanda Parbat," Sara corrects him. "It's the home of the League of Assassins."

It also turns out that Hawkeye - "please, it's Clint," - is perfectly happy to sit down and chat with a teenage superhero while the Black Widow and Sara starts circling each other like a pair of really scary shark-like ladies. Scary ladies with glasses filled with something sparkly and plates brimming with burgers and chargrilled salmon. Not that anybody else seems particularly worried.

"That just looks like the scary ninja assassin version of flirting," Mick shrugs when Peter asks while getting a second helping of ribs. "If they don't end up killing each other before dessert, they'll probably end up disappearing downstairs for half an hour and we'll have Len complaining about having to change the sheets tonight."

"Dude, TMI," but Mick just barks a laugh and waves Peter off, turning his attention to a lanky guy who can't be more than a few years older than Peter and who he's pretty sure is getting his fourth helping.

The evening proceeds - dusk turns into darkness, and Peter gets to meet Cisco Ramon, who proceeds to happily geek out over his web shooters with him for a bit, and then some of the adults start talking about how it'd be nice with a bit of dessert right about now.

"I could go get some ice cream?" he offers.

Len glares at him.

"I'm pretty sure we had the conversation about 15 year old kids running around in unfamiliar cities after dark last night."

"Yeah, but I got my web shooters all fixed - I could just sling right down the street. It's easy!" And it's really weird asking a grown-up for permission to go out and be Spider-Man, even if it's just for an ice cream run.

"In an unfamiliar city. After dark."

"I could go with him. There's a really nice ice cream parlour four blocks away that's open till midnight."

Peter and Len both turn to look at the lanky guy, who has apparently finished devouring Mick's food in favour of stepping forward and offering Peter his hand.

"Hi. I don't think we've been introduced. I'm Barry Allen."

"I'm Peter - and thanks, really, I don't mean to be ungrateful," - especially since Len hasn't already shot the guy down - "but I was kinda hoping to do this, uhm…"

"Oh right," but instead of leaving it at that, Barry holds up a finger in a gimme-a-moment gesture - and then there's a gust of wind, making people swear and grab for paper plates and napkins taking flight. Peter just stares at the suddenly empty space in front of him, and he's pretty sure he's gaping a bit - and that Len is sniggering at him, because he's a bit of an asshole - and then there's a new gust of wind and a crackling in the air and Barry's back, except this time he's dressed in a red suit with a hood of some kind dangling down his back.

He's grinning at Peter.

"So - how about you go put on your suit and those web shooters Cisco was so excited about, and then you can show me what you've got?"

"Can I?" Peter asks, turning to Len, because if there's one thing Aunt May's ingrained in him, it's that "as long as you're living under my roof" (except when he can get away with sneaking out, but that's not exactly an option here).

"Please?" 

It's a little funny that Barry - who is apparently the Flash, unless there's more than one speedster in the city - manages to say "please" exactly at the same time as Peter.

Len just glares at the pair of them.

"Fine. Just spare me the puppy eyes," and he turns away, grumbling, while Peter finds himself grinning right back at Barry.

He runs downstairs and pulls on his suit, trying his best to ignore the noises coming from the direction of where he's pretty sure Len and Mick's bed is hiding behind some screens. As he comes back up, he passes Len grumbling at Mick about "When exactly did I become the responsible adult around here?"

"I'm pretty sure that was back when you used to refuse to pull any heists on school nights, because you had to be up early to make sandwiches for Lisa and make sure she got to school on time." Len's glare pretty vividly spells traitor.

"Ready?" Barry asks, pulling his mask down over his face.

"Dude, I was born ready," and with that, Spider-Man gleefully jumps off the roof.


End file.
